


Lima Beans

by MisabeltheMiserable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Aquaintances to Lovers, Based on a Tumblr Post, Cas is hella cute, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Meet-Cute, One Shot, grocery store au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisabeltheMiserable/pseuds/MisabeltheMiserable
Summary: A one-shot based on a tumblr post.Dean and Castiel first met in the health-food aisle of the local grocery store. The sparks (and soup cans) flew instantly.





	Lima Beans

**Author's Note:**

> My dear readers, if any there be,
> 
> This one-shot is really just a tumblr-inspired drabble that got out of hand, but I hope it pleases.

Based on [this post](http://funnyhalloffame.tumblr.com/post/54251880450/arkhams-margaritina-arkhams-hey-so) by arkhams

 

* * *

 

 

Four months; four goddamn months, Castiel cursed to himself. More specifically, it had been four months, eleven days and a handful of hours since he’d first seen Dean Winchester scowling at vacuum-packed lima beans in the health-food aisle of the local grocery store. Obviously, he hadn’t known the man’s name, or anything about him at all then, and until Castiel had knocked over the stacked display of soup, behind which he’d been hiding, and drawn attention to himself, all he’d known of the stranger was that he had dull blond hair, unrealistically green eyes, annoyingly pink lips set in a frown, and was _perfect_.

As cream of chicken and tomato rice went clattering noisily to the linoleum, giving away Castiel’s position and prompting a mortified flush to spread over his face, stupidly green eyes snapped in his direction. The lima beans were abandoned and the stranger strode towards him, a basket swinging on his forearm. “Hey, need some help there?”

Castiel found it was reflexive to stammer out thanks and sink to the floor with this obnoxiously perfect stranger, to rearrange cans of soup in neat columns. It lacked the artistry of the former arrangement, but Castiel’s mind couldn’t stay on soup when _this man_ was there in his eyeline – existing – moving – _talking._

“So, this kind of thing happen to you a lot, or am I just lucky today?” If the man’s effervescent grin hadn’t been so distractingly bright, Castiel might have been able to work out if he was being made fun of and form a response. As it was, he couldn’t feel his knees and all he managed to mumble was “No…”

“Just luck, then.” If the stranger was at all put off by Castiel’s reticence, he didn’t show it. His smile remained startlingly bright as they got to their feet and – god, were those _freckles?_ This just wasn’t fair. “I’m Dean, by the way.” Castiel found a hand being thrust at him. It was large and calloused, and he was sure just by looking that it would be warm and enveloping. He gazed at it mutely for a second, before belatedly remembering what he was supposed to do with it. Jerking his own hand up clumsily to meet the other man’s – Dean’s – Castiel tried not to hold his breath as warmth closed around his fingers. After a moment he realized that he was staring fixedly at their clasped hands, and that he had yet to say a word.

“Castiel,” he blurted, “I, I mean, that’s my name. Castiel.” He made a point to lift his eyes to Dean’s, though it did nothing for his concentration.

“Like the angel?”

Castiel blinked. He'd never actually met anyone who knew that before. “Yes, actually.”

Dean bobbed his head. “Awesome.”

It occurred to Castiel that their hands were still clasped tightly. He contemplated that their handshake was being protracted beyond what was considered socially acceptable, but really didn’t care. It was not until another customer brushed past them that Dean cleared his throat and stepped back, dropping his hand. “Okay, well, it was really great meeting you, Castiel, and uh, picking up soup cans with you.” Again, that disarming grin. “Maybe I’ll see you around? I shop here a couple times a week since I moved here.”

The warmth that had left Castiel with the loss of Dean’s hand made a flutter of return in his chest. Maybe if they ran into each other, Dean would let him hold his hand again? “Yes, I – I – I shop here too,” Castiel managed to get out. After Dean had smiled and walked out of sight with a “See y’around, Cas,” Castiel had wandered aimlessly up and down the wholefood aisle, unable to do anything but question why a man with a basket full of what looked ready-made pie crust and beef jerky, would be looking at lima beans?

After that, Castiel had seen Dean a total of five times, each time a chance meeting in that same store. He did, for the most part, recover his ability to speak, which made conversation with the man much easier. Their conversations were a good deal longer than was generally considered usual for the chance meeting of casual acquaintances, but neither seemed to care much. Castiel had not, as of yet, had another opportunity to hold Dean’s hand, to his disappointment. He did, however, learn that his name was Dean Winchester, and he was a mechanic; recently moved to the area from Kansas to be nearer his brother, the only blood relation he had left after their father had died wrapping his car round a tree in a night of drunken stupor. It was that car which Dean was apparently using his free time at the garage he’d taken over from a family friend to rebuild. Castiel learned about his brother, Sam, who was currently studying law, and was at the root of the question of lima beans.

In return, Castiel found himself pouring out his life story to the first person he'd ever met who actually seemed interested, all while his bag of frozen peas gently melted a wet patch on his trouser leg.

Each meeting would begin the same way. “Cas! Hey, fancy meeting you here,” or something equally light-hearted (though Castiel could never muster the courage to initiate their conversations).

“Hello, Dean.” It never occurred to him to question the nickname Dean had given him so easily. He didn’t remember ever having been given one before, but from Dean’s perfect lips it sounded exactly right.

And every time, _every goddamn time_ , Castiel would try to find the words – some words – _any_ words, to tell Dean Winchester how exceptionally beautiful he was. Or at least, ask to hold his hand again, or ask for his number; a date; _anything_. But every time he opened his mouth with intent to charm and/or seduce, it somehow never quite came out quite right.

The third time he and Dean had met (this time in the dairy aisle), he’d attempted to compliment the man’s captivating eyes. Unfortunately, the eyes had proven a little _too_ captivating, leading Castiel to desperately blurt out “Your eyelashes don’t match you hair.”

To Dean’s credit, he neither laughed derisively nor ran. He looked mildly confused and said slowly “Yeah, I…guess they don’t.”

 

 

Now, after the fifth chance encounter and the fourth attempt at a stillborn flirtation, Castiel slapped his keys down on the hall table and glared balefully at himself in the mirror opposite. “ _Really,_ Castiel? Of all the disastrous paths to choose, you try to be _funny?_ To _Dean Winchester?”_ He narrowed his eyes at his reflection, as if waiting to see if it could come up with a valid excuse. After a moment he deflated. “You know you’re not funny,” he muttered at himself before relenting and moving away.

The wooing of Dean Winchester was beginning to be quite a problem, and problems called for plans. Sitting at his kitchen table, Castiel pulled a notepad and pen towards him. This would take some serious thought.

 

* * *

 

 

With a groan, Dean Winchester let his forehead thump gently against the steering wheel of his crappy rental. Opening his eyes, he glared at the dash, feeling its obnoxious existence was insult to injury. He missed his baby, and it cut him deep every time he saw her sitting neglected in a corner of the garage. But work was work, and he had to keep the business afloat before anything else. Orders flooded in, and Dean was determined to keep up with them. For weeks he had barely had time to see his little brother, let alone meet anyone new in the neighbourhood, except customers.

And then came Cas.

Castiel Novak. Castiel, the rumpled, blue-eyed angel of the health-food aisle, who bought a shit-ton of vegetables but shared his mistrust of spinach.

Castiel, whose confused, grumpy face never failed to make his whole day better, and whose awkward, rare smiles lit up the whole fucking _week_. Castiel, whom Dean had been trying to ask out for _months_ now, but could never quite seem to say it right.

Castiel, who he thought might kinda like him back, if only he could get his act together and _ask_.

Dean yanked his keys from the ignition. Stomping up the steps to his apartment, he thought grumpily of the first time he’d seen Castiel, looking lost with a collapsed tower of soup cans at his feet. With that goddamn adorable frown on his goddamn adorable face, Dean found himself dropping whatever disgustingly healthy substance he had been picking up for Sammy, and making a beeline for the flustered stranger at the end of the aisle. When Dean had offered his hand to the man, he’d seemed reluctant to take it for a moment. Then long fingers had wrapped around his and – _zap –_ electricity shot straight up his spine and _oh._

_Oh_.

“Castiel,” the man had introduced himself.

“Like the angel?” Dean asked, wondering as soon as the words were out of his mouth why he’d said something so inane. What was he expecting the guy to say? _No, like the rockstar?_

“Yes, actually.” Castiel looked a little taken aback. _Great, way to go Dean, why not tell him all about your encyclopaedic knowledge of Star Trek while you’re here, slam that final nail in your coffin._

He tried to save himself. “Awesome.” Bobbing his head awkwardly, Dean wondered how much it would hurt to just shoot himself in the face.

Castiel was looking straight at him with wide, blue eyes, and it dawned on Dean that he was still holding on tight to the poor guy’s hand. _Probably freaking him the fuck out, too_. For a moment he wavered, not wanting to lose the connection. Someone brushed past his sleeve, nudging him minutely, and he stepped away, realizing now how close they had been standing. He could feel the start of an embarrassed flush on his face and neck. “Okay, well, it was really great meeting you, Castiel, and uh, picking up soup cans with you.” Dean was about to bail, pulling a smile onto his face, when the tiniest, _tiniest_ flicker of an answering smile sidled onto Castiel’s grave face. Perhaps…perhaps Dean hadn’t been as godawful as he thought? “Maybe I’ll see you around? I shop here a couple times a week since I moved here.”

Castiel’s reply was intriguingly stuttery.

 

* * *

 

 

In the following weeks Dean found himself trailing around the store far more often than he really needed, dangling a basket from one arm and reading the back of pasta boxes just to occupy himself (huh, apparently he was supposed to _salt_ pasta water?), while waiting around for Castiel. Sometimes he’d be there, and improve Dean’s whole week. Other times, Dean would wander out of the doors an hour later, feeling uncomfortably like a flat tyre. At some point, _Castiel_ became _Cas_ in his head, and he ended up letting it slip out. It was embarrassing, though Cas didn’t seem to mind. Finally, someone who didn’t mind his nicknames.

Since then, Dean had been trying to figure out a way to ask Cas out. He’d mentally run through dozens of different lead-ins and pick-up lines, ranging from classy, to flirty, to downright corny. None of them seemed quite… _enough_ for Cas. The man was unlike any Dean had met, and for the first time in his life he found himself wanting to write sonnets and lovesick songs, about that shy, crinkly smile and how his eyes looked like the actual, honest-to-god ocean. Plus, one time he had stretched up to grab something from the top shelf, and Dean had caught a glimpse of hipbones he’d be quite happy to chew on.

So why was this so difficult? It wasn’t like Dean was normally shy about this kind of thing. He’d picked up his fair share (some might say _more_ than his fair share) of both chicks and guys in his thirty years, and he’d never struggled to get a line out like this.

Two days following his latest failure to launch, Dean marched purposefully through the automatic doors of the grocery store. He’d given himself a mental pep-talk all the way over here from work ( _he could do this, it wasn’t that scary, just get the words out, Winchester),_ and it wasn’t until he was gripping the basket and striding towards the health-food aisle that the realization that Cas probably wouldn’t be there struck him. He slowed, his determined hold on his basket wilting. Fuck, what had he been thinking, anyway? Cas would never go for a grease-monkey GED like him. The guy was as smart as Sammy, a _librarian_ for godssakes, knew more about bees than he thought was possible to know, and was way too good for Dean Winchester. It was probably just as well Cas wouldn’t be there, if only so Dean could avoid doing something stupid and losing a friend.

Without really knowing where he was going, Dean drifted towards a display of quinoa or some shit, and absently picked up what looked like vacuum-packed sadness.

“Dean!”

The voice was so loud and abrupt that Dean jumped, dropping whatever it was to the linoleum. He whipped around to find Castiel striding towards him agitatedly down the aisle, vaguely waving a handful of – flashcards? – in one hand and muttering inaudibly to himself. His hair was even more disorderly than usual, mussed out of recognition from his characteristic bed-head. Worried lines criss-crossed his face, but he looked curiously driven. “Dean, where have you been? I waited all yesterday afternoon, and today,”

Dean opened his mouth to articulate his confusion, but evidently Cas didn’t require an answer. Stopping a few feet away, he seemed absorbed in shuffling through his flashcards, looking earnestly for something.

“What? Uh – hi? Cas?”

Glancing up, Cas gave him a solemn nod. “Hello, Dean. Are you ready?”

“Yes? Wait – for what?”

Cas had apparently found the correct flashcard. He cleared his throat and stood up straight, looking Dean gravely in the eye. “So, Dean, um, do you come here often?”

Dean was baffled, but willing to go along with whatever this was. “Uh, yeah? I guess? I mean, it’s closest to my house, so it’s easiest. You know that, buddy, we see each other here all the time.” He didn’t know whether it was his imagination or not, but did Cas seem a little…disappointed? He found himself being peered at closely for a moment or two before Cas returned to his flashcards.

“Yes, I know that. It doesn’t matter.” He started flicking through card after card, each one apparently proving unsuitable for whatever his purposes were. A pink flush was rising on his cheeks and his demeanour of agitation was deepening with each rejected card.

On impulse, Dean reached for him. “Hey, Cas, buddy, you okay?” The moment his hand met Cas’ shoulder, the other man’s eyes went wide as saucers, rising slowly to meet Dean’s, and the pink tinge spread up to his ears.

“Thank you, Dean, I’m quite well.” Though, in honesty, he sounded a little strangled. “I have something of great importance to ask you.”

“Oh, well, sure.” Dean dropped his hand, as it seemed to make Cas uncomfortable. “What was it?”

Cas consulted his flashcards nervously. “Did you, uh, did…” Dean quirked an eyebrow curiously, and Cas’ eyes flickered to it. He swallowed and inhaled deeply, apparently preparing for something. “Did you fall out of heaven, because, um,” he glanced down at his card uncertainly and glorious realization hit Dean at last. At that moment, Cas’ convulsive grip on the flashcards faltered and they cascaded to the linoleum, scattering pick-up lines across the aisle floor. “Shit! Fuck, oh God,” Cas dropped to the floor and began trying to gather the cards into a pile. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, you’re –” Standing frozen as he was, Dean found a flushed, mortified face looking miserably up at him. “You’re just so _pretty_ , and I – I’m – I’m sorry,”

Having managed to cobble most of the scattered cards into some semblance of order, Cas got back onto his feet, hugging them to his chest and looking as though he were waiting for the death sentence. Dean searched for words, _any_ words. At last, he found some.

“Dude.” At his incredulous tone, Cas seemed to shrink a little further. “ _You_ want to date _me?”_

Cas nodded miserably. “From the moment I saw you.”

“Awesome,” Dean breathed.

A beat of silence. “What, really?”

“Oh, dude, _yes,_ I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for months. In fact,” Dean checked around them, ducking his head to peer between shelves of dried fruit and grains, “I don’t think there’s anybody about, so if you wanna skip straight to third date sex, I’d be down for that.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked, looking utterly stumped. For a few seconds he said nothing, then starting awkwardly sifting through the flashcards clutched to his chest. “I, um…don’t have a card for…this situation.”

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Dean blurted, finally snapping, and he yanked Castiel towards him. Flashcards tumbled to the floor as their lips met, and the rest fluttered resignedly to join them as Cas’ hands rose to cup Dean’s jaw. His shyness soon turned to enthusiasm, and Dean found himself pressed against an array of freeze dried fruits that honestly looked like offences against both God and man, but when Cas did _that_ with his tongue – Dean didn’t care at all.

“Uh, sir? Sirs? You can’t – you shouldn’t do that here. There’s – there’s cameras, and shit…”” A pimply, blushing youth in a store uniform was the source of the interruption. Dean gave the kid a strangled yip of acknowledgement when Cas let him up for air, while Cas himself merely glared speculatively up at the CCTV. The embarrassed teen shuffled off.

“Dean, I don’t think we can have intercourse here.” said Cas seriously, a pensive crease to his brow.

Holding himself back from laughing giddily, Dean managed to reply “Yeah, I know, it’s too bad.”

Cas’ look was oddly shy for a man who still had Dean half-pinned to a shelf of dried goods. “But I’d settle for holding your hand?”

“Goddamn,” breathed Dean, diving for Cas’ lips once again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks. If you liked it, please do leave me a comment or something!


End file.
